


rings around the eyes

by knameless



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Vampire Gerard Way, Vampires, dirty vampire fucker frank iero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 06:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12764898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knameless/pseuds/knameless
Summary: gerard doesn’t want to drink frank’s fucking blood, alright, drop it.





	rings around the eyes

“You look a little sick.”

Gerard glances up. Frank considers him from across the table. “Like, since you’re a creature of the night now, is it normal for you to look like you got hit by a bus?”

Gerard scrubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t need to check a mirror (which he can, by the way. It was one of the first things he tested out). He’s pretty sure he looks just as shit as he feels. 

“No, seriously,” Frank presses, and nudges Gerard’s leg under the table, “Is something wrong?”

Gerard exhales in a puff, twisting his fingers in his hair. The feeling has been growing lately, a constant buzz reverberating through his cells. He’d thought it would feel like a stronger version of the hunger from before he’d turned, but it doesn’t. It’s like nothing he’s ever known before. It aches through his entire being; it’s not just a physical need-- it’s more than that, something primal and ancient and all-consuming, and sometimes it terrifies him. But Frank is still waiting for an answer, so he wipes a hand across his nose, and mumbles, “No. Yeah. It’s just that it’s been a while since I’ve--” He hesitates. 

“Fed.”

The word hangs in the air between them, and even though Gerard keeps his gaze firmly affixed to his beat-up leather boots, he can feel Frank’s eyes on him. He wonders if that’s one of his new abilities, or if he just knows Frank. He can hear the words that are about to come from Frank’s mouth before he even says them.

“What if--”

“No,” Gerard says. “No.”

“Come on, you know I trust you--”

“No,” Gerard repeats, through gritted teeth. “I can’t.”

“Gerard!” Frank smacks his hand on the table, lightly, but Gerard jumps in his seat anyway. “Don’t get all high-and-mighty and, fucking, _moral_ about this. You can’t try to get someone out there, that’s so fucking risky, what if you fuck up?” He gestures at his neck, angrily. “You need to feed, and I am a fucking Happy Meal already in your fucking kitchen.”

Gerard puts his face in his hands. “Frank, stop, I can’t, okay? I’m not going to.” He can’t. He can’t. He won’t.

“No! C’mon, seriously, it’s safer like this, it’s someone you know,” Frank is saying, and then Gerard looks up from his hands and suddenly picks up on Frank’s tensed muscles and flushed face and the way he’s leaning forward and tilting his head _just so_ , and it all snaps into place. 

“Oh my God,” Gerard says. “You _want_ me to bite you.”

“Well, yeah.” Frank gives him a _no-shit-sherlock_ look. “Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?”

“No,” Gerard says slowly. “I mean you _really_ want me to bite you.”

There’s a pause. “What? No!” Frank jerks backwards so fast his chair makes a screeching sound on the tile, and he gives Gerard a scandalized look. In response, Gerard crosses his arms and lifts his chin. 

“Okay, maybe,” Frank admits after approximately five seconds. But before Gerard can say anything, he leans forward and grabs Gerard’s sleeve across the table, and in a low, quiet voice, he says, “But don’t you want it too?” 

Gerard stares into Frank’s eyes for a second and then, automatically, he flicks his gaze down to Frank’s throat, and Gerard can practically sense the life surging beneath it, can practically _taste_ it--

Shit. 

Frank inhales sharply, and Gerard snaps his eyes away from Frank’s neck. Frank takes his hand from Gerard’s sleeve and brings it up to the collar of his own t-shirt, slowly, hooking his fingers in and dragging it down ever so slightly, over his collarbone. He swallows, and Gerard watches the skin ripple and feels like his entire field of vision has narrowed down to the gently pulsing vein on the side of Frank’s neck, right next to the scorpion, so faint he could never have seen it before he was turned. 

“Don’t you want to?” Frank rasps again, and at the thought of it Gerard feels an ancient need thrumming through his bones, a shiver far older than he reverberating down his spine, and he knows the answer is yes.

Before he’s even aware of it he’s shoved the little table to the side and straddled Frank’s lap and he’s so close now, he can smell it humming through Frank’s body, and he wants it, he _needs_ it. Frank gasps as Gerard buries his face in Frank’s throat. 

At first he’s content just to lick and suck and kiss, and Frank moans and hisses under him and between his thighs. Gerard almost forgets what he’s doing, he’s so caught up in Frank’s frantic movements. But then the feeling takes over, abruptly, like jerking the steering wheel out of his hands, and Gerard remembers exactly what he wants. 

He makes a low sound when he feels the fangs come and Frank echoes it, grasping at Gerard’s shoulders. “Fucking bite me already,” he whines, so Gerard does. 

Frank groans, loud and dirty, when Gerard sinks into his skin. Gerard instinctively knows where to pierce, and then he drinks and drinks and drinks. The pleasure is so intense he thinks his eyes might roll back into his head; he feels gluttonous and filthy and primal, but mostly, he feels so fucking good. 

It doesn’t last long; he feels like he could drink forever, but after the first few gulps the feeling is sated enough for the other parts of his mind to take control again and tear him away. He laps at the final few trickles of blood that squeeze out and then kisses the wound on Frank's throat. Frank is still panting heavily, frantically, chest heaving against Gerard’s, and Gerard feels like maybe he should kiss Frank for real so he does, and Frank makes unwound, desperate noises into Gerard’s mouth and Gerard wonders if Frank can taste his own blood on Gerard’s tongue.

When they part, Frank slumps forward, resting his forehead on Gerard’s shoulder, and for a moment Gerard is terrified, thinking that he fucked up, he took too much, something is horribly wrong. But then Frank makes a contented, fucked-out noise and turns his head a little and rubs his face against Gerard’s neck, and Gerard breathes out again. 

“What did I fucking tell you?” Frank mumbles. “You should always listen to me.” He presses a tentative kiss to Gerard’s throat, as Gerard did to his, and Gerard closes his eyes. “I guess I should,” he replies.


End file.
